


this could mean everything (if one of us just asked)

by potstickermaster



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Everyone's gay, F/F, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, i guess idk, it was supposed to be a 3k word fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potstickermaster/pseuds/potstickermaster
Summary: “That place is cursed,” a voice says, and Imra whips her attention to the source. She finds a tall blonde wearing jeans and a leather jacket, a paper bag in her arms. The blonde tilts her head, and Imra notices something glowing blue by her ears. “Just saying,” she continues.Or the Psi / Imra tattoo artist / florist AU no one asked for.





	this could mean everything (if one of us just asked)

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST WANTED A CUTE FIC OF THE TWO OF THEM IN THIS STUPID CLICHE TROPE OKAY anyway inspired by [polarbiscuit’s artwork](https://twitter.com/polar_biscuit/status/1026254893772886016) that I stared at until this dumbass fic finished itself lmao fair warning this is unbetaed so sorry for the mistakes, incoherence and the general crappery anyway bye
> 
>  

 

Argo Street is far quieter than Imra had expected for a business side of her new town, Krypton. Granted, she arrived at a dead Tuesday afternoon after moving out of the even quieter town of Daxam a few states over, but she had expected at least _more_ people milling about, especially since the town mall is just nearby. Instead, all she can see in the midst of the burning afternoon heat are parked cars on the side of the street. Right in front of her shop is a bright red sedan that looked like it needed a wash four months back. She will have to deal with that _and_ customer parking when she has officially opened her shop.

Imra’s flower shop  is at the ground floor of the quaint brownstone home she got from the divorce— _got,_ vaguely, because it was given to her. The memory of Mike practically shoving the property title her way with a muttered _for the inconvenience_ while they were signing divorce papers almost makes her laugh. Her parents had asked why move to Krypton, of all places, especially to a place that had memories of _him,_ but she told them that it would be easier to let him go like this.

She doesn’t tell them it isn’t that hard. It wasn’t like she loved him, anyway. Maybe in some ways, maybe as a friend, but not in the way her parents had hoped after the arranged marriage. She was just glad he fucked up early on in their relationship so she didn’t have to stay with him longer.

Imra eyes the glass wall she had installed to replace the original window and brick wall. She could see the mess waiting for her inside, but she pictures the array of flowers she could display from there. She will need two tables, maybe three. She eyes the small wooden sign nailed just above the doorway that read _Ardeen’s_ and smiles. She could go about other changes soon, when she has finally settled. The plan is to have the rest of the first floor as her dining room and kitchen, and the second floor will be her bedroom-slash-home office, while the small attic would be where everything that wouldn’t fit the first two floors would go.

 _That_ will be the plan, at least, when she finishes unpacking.  Her flowers and plants will be delivered by Friday, which means she at least has to finish the shop preparations in two days, then she can finally open the shop.

Imra sighs and looks at the direction where the moving truck had gone a few minutes ago, then glances back to her future storefront.  This will be her fresh start, away from the memories she had of Daxam. Taking her phone from her back pocket, she snaps a quick picture of her new place.

“That place is cursed,” a voice says, and Imra whips her attention to the source. She finds a tall blonde wearing jeans and a leather jacket, a paper bag in her arms. The blonde tilts her head, and Imra notices something glowing blue by her ears. “Just saying,” she continues.

Imra blinks, confused, but before she could ask, the blonde leaves, pulling out keys from her jacket pocket. She heads to the shop right beside Imra’s, calls out _good luck_ right over her shoulder, then closes the door, leaving Imra baffled. The dark-haired woman steps back to check where the blonde had gone. The next door is to a tattoo parlor,  one of the shops in the three-storey commercial complex beside Imra’s brownstone. There is a neon sign that reads _Psi’s Inks_ behind its glass wall, beside it several posters of what Imra guesses are different tattoo designs.

Wait.

Cursed?

//

Imra orders three wooden tables for the shop and has them delivered by Thursday. She has successfully unpacked her things for the dining and kitchen area, has prepared her things for the opening of the store come Saturday—not that she expected a lot of people to come anyway. She still has to finish her website and do promotions on social media just to gain awareness, but at the very least, the store is _ready_ for business. When the night rolls in, she is all too ready to pass out on her bed, but she manages to upload photos of her arrangements on Instagram and on her online shop before succumbing to exhaustion.

She barely has energy to get up the next morning, but her deliveries are due.  She guides the delivery men to where to put the plants and the flowers inside as she checks the inventory. Her supplier had suggested selling fruits aside from her flowers as supplementary income. She will have to bring them out by crates by tomorrow, maybe earlier in the day so she could sell some to early risers.

“A flower shop,” a voice says, and when Imra turns around, it’s the blonde from a couple of days ago. There is still the glowing blue by her ears. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Imra manages a small laugh. “Yeah,” is all she is able to say, because the woman—who seems to have come from nowhere—heads to the tattoo parlor again.

Someone who works there, then?

//

When Imra finishes her inventory and the delivery men had left, she gathers up a few daffodils and a couple of business cards. After locking up the shop, she makes her way to the buildings to the right of the brownstone. There is a vacant lot that is for sale beside the brownston, but after  it is a row of more stores. She walks into each one, offers a daffodil and her card, and introduces herself.

Most of the other shopkeepers are nice; there is a man who owns a studio, Jimmy’s, and next to his shop is Sweet Ecstasy, half a candy store and half a bakery ran  by a redhead who introduced herself as Alex. The space next to them is being renovated, and Alex shared it’s going to be an extension of the bakery.

“A cafe,” Alex says with a grin. “At least we know where to get flowers for the opening day from.”

The other shopkeepers aren’t as friendly as Alex, however. A blonde woman in the electric store didn’t seem pleased by Imra’s visit, and the receptionist of the salon beside it sent Imra away before she could even hand her card.

Imra made her way back to her shop to restock her daffodils, then resumed to the remaining stores—first up was the tattoo parlor beside hers.

The mysterious blonde woman.

The florist  makes her way to the door and pushes it when she saw the _open_ sign is up.  The sight that greets her isn’t at all what she expected; then again, Imra doesn’t know what to expect of a tattoo parlor. The studio is almost as big as her place—there is a divider in the middle, boxing off where she assumes the magic happens. There is a reclining seat set up on one side, beside it another chair, and against the wall are shelves and metal boxes arranged meticulously. On the wall are posters similar to the ones displayed against the glass wall—various photographs of people with tattoos and artworks—along with one or two abstract paintings.

“Hello?” Imra calls out. She isn’t given an answer. Walking further into the room, she finds a half-finished painting on a canvas on the other side of the room divider.  The other side is dimly lit, its walls painted a dark blue, but Imra can see the bunch of flowers painted on the lower part of the canvas. The chair in front of it is vacant, but the table beside it is littered with brushes and various paints. A tall cup with the logo of Sweet Ecstasy sits on the desk too, along with a pair of what looks like earpieces.

The sound of footsteps take Imra’s attention. She looks up to find the blonde emerging from the staircase at the corner that she hasn’t noticed. The blonde doesn’t seem to notice her, too, if the way she jumps a little is any indication. She almost drops the palette and tubes of paint in her hands.

Imra smiles apologetically. “Sorry, the sign said you were open.”

The blonde nods, though Imra wonders if she is pissed. She doesn’t say anything, just walks to the table to put down the items in her hands. Imra watches her. The blonde is wearing a black long sleeve shirt that had some paint splatters on the hem. She takes the earpieces from the table and places them in her ears.  They start glowing a bright blue when the blonde pushes against them. She shakes her head lightly, then clears her throat.

“Are those for me?” The blonde asks, gesturing to the daffodils in Imra’s hand.

“Oh!” Imra chuckles nervously and looks down at the flowers. She manages a nod, and before she could even remember that she was supposed to give _one_ flower per store, she is already handing the bunch to the blonde. “Yes, I was—” She scratches the back of her neck with her free hand. “Yeah.”

The blonde raises an eyebrow but reaches for them anyway. Imra clears her throat as the taller woman examines them. “What do these mean?” The blonde asks.

Imra blushes. “What?”

“These, Matilda,” the blonde says with an amused little smile as she lifts the flowers in her hand. Imra fidgets, her throat dry, because no one else had assumed the flowers had meaning—probably because Imra started with a spiel of how she runs the new flower shop in town and how she is taking orders starting today. Said spiel has been forgotten along with every other word Imra is supposed to know, because the blonde is looking at her so intensely, like she is studying her, and the heat in her cheeks blossoms further when the blonde tilts her head just so as she waits for an answer.

Wait, did she—

 _Okay,_ granted, the blonde _is_ gorgeous—Imra _isn’t_ blind and she most definitely _is_ gay, but it isn’t like—

The blonde’s little smile turns into more of a smirk. “Flowers have meanings right?” She asks.

Imra finally understands her question. She breathes out a laugh as her gay panic dissolves away. “Oh, yeah, I—” She clears her throat. “Uh. Daffodils. They mean new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings then,” the blonde says. She  tilts her head again, nods, and gestures behind her. “I’ll put these in a vase. Do you need anything else?”

Imra blinks. She needs to tell the blonde that she has just opened her flower shop for business, but the woman probably knew that considering they are _neighbors._ She wants to say the rest of her spiel—that she is accepting custom arrangements, and that she has social media pages and a website where people can order—but nothing comes out. Instead, she could only stare at the blonde.

“Imra,” she finally says. “My—” She clears her throat again, clasps her hands in front of her. “My name’s Imra.”

The blonde smiles. “Sure,” she drawls. “See you around, Matilda.”

//

Only when Imra has finished going around the stores to the left of her flower shop—after she had returned to get more daffodils since that mysterious blonde woman had _snatched_ the whole bunch Imra got, nevermind the fact that she willingly handed them to her—does she realize that she didn’t get the name of the woman in the tattoo parlor.

She realizes when she gets home that the blonde called her Matilda. _Twice._

“I’m not that short,” she huffs, flipping the _Closed_ sign to _Open_ and sends a glare to the direction of the tattoo parlor. “I don’t even have bangs.”

_//_

Imra doesn’t see the blonde woman again. She doesn’t mysteriously show up while Imra arranges the flowers on display every morning to ominously warn the florist of the brownstone curse, or make some comment about how she wouldn’t have guessed Imra would open a flower shop beside her tattoo parlor. It’s odd, considering they are _neighbors,_ but Imra chalks it up to their schedules, especially since work is picking up. Between selling fruits and flowers and designing arrangements, and networking with event organizers and visiting Preya’s grave during the weekends, she barely notices that she hasn’t seen the blonde. Imra hears music from her place at night though—not the loud punk rock music she expects but rather epic classical pieces—and she remembers the earpieces that glow bright blue. She thinks they are hearing aids, but she isn’t entirely sure and she doesn’t get the chance to ask.

The following days become better for her business—the fruits sell quickly, thanks to early morning joggers and moms who walk by on their way to Sweet Ecstasy, and every now and then there is the occasional customer who gets bouquets for their loved ones, or a fresh bunch of flowers or succulents for their homes. Imra gets a few orders online, too, and come the next week, she has managed to get Brainy—real name Querl, he said, but insisted he be called _Brainy_ —a man who worked for the local newspaper, to do her deliveries for her.

Alex drops by some time later to order a couple of arrangements for the opening of Sweet Ectasy’s cafe and to personally invite Imra to come. Imra agrees and promises to go, even offers a discount that Alex politely declines. The redhead also buys a large bouquet of red roses— _for the wife,_ she says with an endeared smile—before leaving, and calls out _maybe you could come with Gayle!_ over her shoulder as she walks out the door.

Who’s Gayle?

//

On the day of Sweet Ecstasy Cafe’s grand opening, Imra has Brainy deliver the pair of lovely floral stands and the various centerpieces Alex had ordered a little during mid-afternoon, giving the organizers enough time to prepare for the opening that evening. Imra finishes inventory and gets ready to close shop when a raven-haired woman comes in, wearing a nice maroon coat and high heels, looking a little breathless.

“Please tell me you’re still open,” she says with a plea in her voice. Imra gives her a smile and nods.

“Sure thing. What do you need?”

“Thank you,” the woman sighs. “Work ran late and I—” She shakes her head and shakes her head apologetically.  “Um. Your biggest bunch of red roses and sunflowers, please. Maybe lilies, too?”

Imra pauses from taking a pair of light pink and black floral wrap to grin at the woman. “Good eye,” she says, then rounds the counter to pick a couple of the bigger sunflowers. “Big day?”

The woman laughs. “You can say that. My girlfriend’s opening her café part of the bakery a few stores down.”

“Wait,” Imra puts the yellow flowers on the wrap, takes her shears to snip away some leaves. “Alex?” She is sure Alex mentioned _wife_ when she bought roses.

The woman’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh dear god, no,” she laughs. “Her younger sister. They’re business partners, you can say. Kara Danvers?”

“Oh, sorry,” Imra chuckles. She goes on to add the roses and white lilies. “I don’t think I’ve met her.”

Realization seems to dawn on the woman. “You’re Imra,” she exclaims. “Alex has mentioned you. Sam adored the flowers.”

Sam. Imra figures she is the wife. “That’s me,” she chuckles.

“I’m Lena,” the woman introduces. Imra pauses to shake her hand, before Lena apologizes for bothering her work. The florist dismisses the apology with a light chuckle then continues finishing up the arrangement.

“Here you go,” Imra says, handing the bouquet to Lena as she gives her total. She accepts it with a grin and a hushed _it’s beautiful_ and hands Imra her payment. “I’ll make sure to send my congratulations later,” Imra says as she notes the purchase down and sets it aside.

Lena grins. “You should. Drag Gayle with you while you’re at it.”

Imra looks up from her notebook with a bite of her lip. “I— Who’s Gayle?” She asks dumbly. “Alex has mentioned her last time but—”

“She hasn’t introduced herself,” Lena supplies. The raven-haired woman laughs knowingly and shakes her head. “I probably shouldn’t, but she’s your neighbor.  A friend of ours, and she’s done a few tattoos of mine.” She grins. “You could go knock later, before you go to the cafe, in case she wants to go.”

Imra looks confused for a  moment. “We’re not… Friends.”

Lena waves a hand. “We all know each other in this block,” she promises, then makes her way out the door. “Tell her it’s about time,” Lena adds with a smile, then says she’ll see them later.

The florist blinks at the doorway, still confused.

About time for what?

//

Still entirely too confused but already at the edge of being late for the opening of Sweet Ecstasy’s Cafe, Imra takes her basket of freshly-arranged carnations and daisies and leaves home to head to the tattoo parlor, Alex’s and Lena’s invitation in her mind. She hesitates before knocking, smooths down her sweatshirt and kicks aside the idea that she should have worn a dress or something else, then finally knocks.

The blonde opens the door, looking a little annoyed, caught in the middle of putting on a leather jacket. Imra catches sight of her left arm littered with tattoos she hasn’t really seen the first few times she has seen the woman. The blonde’s expression softens when she sees who is on the other side of the door and a ghost of a smirk graces her lips.

“Those for me, Matilda?” She says as a greeting, pushing her arm through the sleeve of her jacket then pulling her hair out of the collar with both hands.

Imra notices the black choker wrapped snugly around her pale neck.  Her jaw drops, and she glances at the basket of flowers in her hand in an attempt to focus on coming up with an answer. “They’re for—”

“Sweet Ecstasy,” the blonde supplies. “I know. I’ve been told you’ll be dragging me. Come on.”

She doesn’t say anything else then, instead slips out the door and locks it. Imra blinks at her a few times as she starts walking—she is wearing a shirt with her leather jacket, dark jeans tucked in her boots, and Imra doesn’t feel too conscious about her outfit anymore.

“You coming, Matilda?” The blonde calls out without looking back at Imra. The florist huffs before jogging after the woman.

“My name is Imra,” she mutters, finally catching up and walking beside the blonde. Glancing up at her, Imra notices the glowing blue on her ears again. “You haven’t told me your name,” she points out.  

Gayle barely looks at her. “Pretty sure you’ve been told, little bird,” she says. She spares Imra a glance. “Call me whatever you want.”

Imra makes a small sound and bites her lip. “Gayle it is, then.”

 _Gayle_ only makes a small sound that is not affirmation but is not a violent reaction either. Imra puffs her cheeks with air and walks in silence. Argo Street is livelier this time of night, with cars speeding past the streets and people making their way to their dinner and evening plans. Sweet Ecstasy is not that long of a walk from the tattoo parlor, but Imra realizes she doesn’t like the silence—especially when she knows nothing about Gayle.

So she starts the conversation. “How long have you had the shop?”

Surprisingly, Gayle answers. “A couple of years. I live upstairs.”

“Oh.” Imra glances at her and nods. That explains why she rarely sees her leave. Or even _see_ her, in general. When Gayle doesn’t say anything else, Imra bites her lip. “I just moved in. I live upstairs, too.”

The blonde makes a small sound. “I did wonder why.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Gayle drawls. “Then I realized it’s none of my business.”

Imra laughs shyly. So Gayle is guarded and stingy with details. “I needed a new pace,” Imra adds anyway, just to keep the silence at bay. She could already hear the music from Sweet Ecstasy, could see the people making their way.

“Life around here isn’t much of that,” Gayle says, surprising Imra. “More like a crawl.”

The florist smiles at that. “I appreciate it better.”

The café is bustling with life and chatter when they arrive. Imra finds Alex and a tall brunette talking to people. Lena is by the wine table, pouring drinks into glasses, and Imra looks around for other familiar faces when a blonde in glasses walks her way.

“You must be Imra!” The blonde grins. “I’m Kara. Your flowers are lovely!”

Imra smiles at her and offers the basket in her hand. “Here are more of them,” she says with a laugh. “Congratulations on the cafe.”

“Thank you. I see you managed to bring out our friend here,” Kara says, gesturing at Gayle. The blonde isn’t as enthusiastic, even rolls her eyes. Imra chuckles nervously, not entirely knowing what to do.

“Don’t look at me,” Gayle drawls. Kara scrunches her nose to hold back a giggle and turns to Imra instead.

“So,” Kara starts, a slow smile taking over her features, and there is _something_ about her that makes Imra excited. Must be her sunny disposition. Kara claps once and beams. “Shall I introduce you to the rest of the town before I offer you the best cakes you’ll ever taste?”

//

Imra is introduced to everyone in attendance—not quite literally everyone in town, but a _lot_ of people, most of them Imra doesn’t even remember. She shakes everyone’s hands though, and it’s Kara who brings up that she runs a flower shop. Lena joins Kara in showing Imra around, and the florist meets Alex’s  Sam, too, who is apparently a baker and quite well known in town.

The whole time Imra walks around the rather spacious and cozy cafe to meet people, her gaze is drawn back to where Gayle is. She finds a seat near the refreshments table and helps herself to some amber-colored liquid. Imra quickly looks away when Gayle glances at her, worried about being caught looking—but Gayle catching her looking just means she was looking at her, Imra thinks, and she dismisses the thought with a bite of her lip.  

Gayle is… _Something._ Imra doesn’t quite know how to put it, but the mysterious aura about her stokes the curious fire she feels. She doesn’t think it’s the loneliness of being in a new town and the need to latch on to people’s company. She has friends. She is still in contact with her friends from Daxam, after all. Brainy is a great friend too, and so is Alex when Imra finds her at the bakery, but a part of her wants to sate some the curiosity about Gayle of Psi’s Inks.  

Or maybe it’s because of the fact that she has could count on one hand the number of times she has seen the blonde in the two months since she has moved in. Her interest is piqued, that’s all.

Of course, there is also the other plausible reason for this _itch_ to know Gayle. She is charming, gorgeous, and if tattoo parlor was any indication, talented, and well, Imra’s just  a girl.

A voice in her head tells her to just pine from a distance, but there is nothing stopping her from doing exactly that _while_ being friends with Gayle, right? She just has to get to that _being friends_ part.

She sighs and takes the final bite of the sample of cakes Sam had offered her. She has to agree with Kara that they are indeed  great cakes. Thankfully she hasn’t had dinner then, because otherwise she wouldn’t have finished the plate, but when she was done the hosts had already excused themselves to go around the cafe and entertain their guests. Imra sits quietly in her chair, just looking around, and almost jumps when someone walks up to her.

“I’m heading home,” Gayle mumbles as she shoves her hands in her jacket pockets. “Do you- You can walk with me if you want.”

Imra blinks a few times at the offer then stands to nod. “Yeah, it’s kind of late,” she agrees. They congratulate Alex, Kara and Sam again, and the women offer Imra hugs as if they had known her for a while. They pull Gayle into hugs, too, and the woman grunts as if she doesn’t like the contact, but Imra catches sight of the smallest hint of a smile as Gayle pulls away and tells Kara _you’re one to talk._

Gayle turns to her and tells her they should go. Imra gives the women a wave, and she chuckles as Kara waves back excitedly.

“They’re lovely,” Imra tells Gayle when they are walking to the direction of their apartments.

“Annoying, but sure,” the blonde mutters.

Imra laughs lightly and glances at the taller woman. The blue light on her ears are brighter against her blonde hair, and Imra itches to ask about it again. The night is growing cold. Imra crosses her arms to fight back a shudder. “You all seem close,” she says instead.

Gayle shrugs. “I’ve done their tattoos and piercings.”

“Ah.” Imra smiles. It only makes her even more curious, wondering why Gayle would deem those who consider her as a friend as _clients._ There is that almost irrational want to befriend the blonde again, and she wonders if, should they ever become _friends_ , Gayle would only ever consider her a _neighbor._ She sighs to herself and glances to Gayle, who looks ahead of her as if Imra wasn’t walking beside her.

Considering this little… _crush_ of hers, Imra thinks she may have a type—women who can’t spare her a second  glance. It happened once, in high school, with the student council president, and then a couple of times in college: a teaching assistant, a sorority sister, that one-night stand that turned  into her best friend until they grew apart recently.

Maybe her place isn’t cursed. Maybe _she_ is.

“Hey,” Gayle calls out, and when Imra looks up, the blonde has stopped walking and is a few steps behind her. She realizes they are already in front of their shops, and Imra had been too into her thoughts she did not notice.

“Sorry, I was...” She purses her lips. Was what? Imra shakes her head and gestures to her door. “Would you—” Gayle looks at her, the way that looks like she is studying her again, or like she is trying to memorize Imra, or worse, like she is _remembering_ her. Imra is sure she hasn’t seen her before she moved to the town, but the sheer idea of forgetting a face like Gayle’s makes a blush crawl up her neck. “I have some good tea, if you’d like some,” the florist offers awkwardly.

Gayle scrunches her nose. “Not the tea type,” she says, then shuts her mouth quickly like she hadn’t meant to say that. Imra bites her lip, but Gayle bobs her head to the direction of her place like she wasn’t just staring at Imra. “Good night, Matilda,” she adds before leaving.

Imra watches as she leaves, mumbles a _good night_ after her retreating form, and when she realizes _she_ is staring _,_ she blushes further and shakes her head before hurrying inside.

_Useless._

//

Imra is just finishing an arrangement for delivery to L-Corp from the city over when Gayle comes in, wearing a dark blue long sleeve and jeans stained with paint. The florist is surprised at the sight of her, and it must show because Gayle purses her lips and hesitates before practically spitting her reason for visiting.

“I need flowers,” she mumbles. She shoves her hands into her pants’ back pockets. “To send my well wishes,” she adds, eyeing the flowers around the shop.

Imra beams at her. Finally, something she can talk about—a fleeting similar interest, but a point of conversation nonetheless. “Of course,” she replies, mind already racing with possibilities. “Can I- Who is it for?”

Gayle walks towards the rows of roses. “A friend,” she answers, looking up at Imra. “She, um. Got sick recently.”

A friend. Imra nods and points to the vase of daisies. “Daisies are the usual choice because they mean cheerfulness and positivity,” she explains, then gestures to the bunch of peonies of various pink shades next to the daisies. “Peonies stand for healing, so obviously, they’re also a great choice, but I’d suggest some hydrangeas.” She walks over to the rows of pink and purple flowers, touches the petals gently and grins at Gayle. “Less common, but they mean perseverance, which, well, some people need sometimes, you know?”

Gayle looks at the flowers, then glances up at Imra to nod. Her lack of enthusiasm makes the smile on Imra’s face dim. “That’s a yes?” She asks, unsure.

“Yeah,” the blonde mumbles.

“To what?”

Gayle sighs and shrugs. “The hydrangeas are pretty.”

Imra bites her lip and nods. She takes a large white square from her rack of floral wraps along with a light blue shade of mesh fiber sheet that complements the hydrangeas.

“Something tells me you don’t get flowers for someone regularly,” she notes softly as she arranges the bouquet on the table.

The blonde snorts as she lightly flicks a sunflower. “I’m not exactly the type to have people to send flowers to,” she mutters.

Imra looks up at her from where she adds some baby’s-breath with the purple blooms. Gayle is studying the different flowers lined up against the wall, her hands still firmly in her back pockets. Imra finds it _adorable_ before she could even stop herself. “The type to receive flowers more like,” she chuckles, then blushes when she realizes what she said. She puts laser focus on her task but feels Gayle _staring_ at her, and Imra wishes for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

When she finishes the bouquet, she hands it to the blonde with an embarrassed smile. Gayle takes it in her arms.

“How much?” She asks.

“It’s on the house,” Imra says with a nervous chuckle. “Since it’s the first one you got here.”

Gayle stares at her for a moment. She manages a smile and thanks Imra stiffly, then leaves with a polite nod goodbye, bouquet in her arms.

“The type to receive flowers more like?” Imra mocks with a roll of her eyes when Gayle is gone. She takes the clippings from the hydrangea arrangement and dumps them in the trash. With a dramatic sigh, she glances at the doorway.

She highly doubts there will be a next time.

//

Gayle returns a few weeks later. Imra is doing inventory for the end of the day when she comes in, dressed up in an outfit similar to the one she wore during Sweet Ecstasy’s opening.

“Sign says you’re still open?” Gayle says as a form of greeting. She brings her hands to her jacket pockets as Imra sets her logbook aside.

She hopes the smile on her face isn’t too _relieved._ “Yeah! How are- Um, what can I help you with?”

Gayle looks around for a moment. “A housewarming gift,” she says. “For ah, a friend I haven’t seen in a while.”

Imra nods and bites back the word vomit of suggestions she has, considering Gayle’s last visit to the shop. “Okay,” she says instead. “Anything you had in mind?”

The blonde glances at Imra, a frown on her eyebrows. “Oh. I was hoping you had suggestions,” she says softly.

The florist manages a smile at that, her worry of being too excitable dissipating. “Well, for a housewarming gift I’d suggest houseplants. Succulents are low-maintenance and require small space but if your, um, friend has some space to spare, maybe orchids?” She walks to the table where she had a couple of the plants on display. She gestures to them and looks up to meet Gayle’s gaze; at least the woman is listening intently now, and Imra fights back a blush at the attention. “The blue ones are- um, they stand for spirituality, while the pink ones represent joy and happiness. Both give a great color to one’s home.”

Gayle slowly nods as she looks down at the flowers. When she doesn’t answer, Imra gestures vaguely behind her. “I… I also have some herbs if your friend cooks?”

“You seem to really know your flowers,” Gayle blurts out as she meets Imra’s gaze again.

The florist laughs softly and scratches her left temple. “I… Yeah,” she chuckles. “My sister got me into it and I guess I…” She trails off with a shrug.

“She helps around?” Gayle asks.

“She’s gone, actually,” Imra whispers.

Gayle breathes out an _oh._ “Sorry, I didn’t...”

“It’s fine,” Imra assures. “It’s a long time ago.”

Gayle nods slowly. “Right. Um. I’ll get the pink orchids.”

“Right!” Imra moves to take the pot of pink orchids, blinking away the surprise at where their conversation has gone. She wraps it up in a craft bag and hands it to Gayle with her total.

“Do you have a card?” Gayle asks as she pays.

“What?”

“A business card,” Gayle says. “With your number. Should my friend need to call for herbs.”

“Oh.” Imra nods and opens the drawer to grab one. She hands it to Gayle and notices, yet again, the glowing blue earpieces hidden under blonde hair. “Never really seen hearing aids that light up,” she notes.

Gayle shrugs and takes the card. “If I’m going to be different, might as well go all out, right?”

Imra smiles and nods. “I think they’re cool.”

Gayle smirks. “You should see the rest of me.”

Imra flusters at that. Gayle thanks her for the card and the plant, then leaves with a little wave. Imra stares at the doorway where she had gone and sighs.

“Okay, fine,” she mutters to herself as she runs her hand through her hair. “Maybe a bigger crush than expected. Shit.”

//

The rest of Gayle, Imra realizes, are her tattoos. She thinks she shouldn’t really be surprised but she is; Imra catches sight of some of them one time she makes her way back to her apartment with a paper bag of food in tow. She finds the blonde replacing the display posters on her glass wall with one about discounts for first-time customers. Gayle is not wearing the long sleeved shirts Imra usually sees her in, but instead has a black sleeveless shirt on. Her hair is up on a messy bun, too, and Imra finds herself smiling and waving through the glass.

Gayle pauses and blinks at Imra before awkwardly waving back at her. Grinning now, Imra puts the paper bag in one arm and gestures to it with her free hand.

“Cool tattoos,” she says.

Gayle just stares. Imra repeats herself with a little laugh, and she watches Gayle walk away to disappear behind the divider. She returns with the glowing blue on her ears and pops out her door.

“Sorry, what was that?” She asks Imra.

The florist bites her lip, surprised that Gayle actually went out. “I said, cool tattoos.” She grins and looks at Gayle’s left arm, littered with various inkwork of different colors. The sleeves starts from her wrist, which explains why Imra never noticed, moving up her whole arm; Imra notices patterns crawling up her forearm, surrounding what looks like birds and roses, the flowers dissolving into a cityscape before it transitions beautifully into waves on her bicep. The waves taper off into words Imra can’t make out with one glance.

“Oh.” Gayle looks down at them and awkwardly laughs. “Thanks.”

Imra smiles, looks at Imra’s arms again, then lifts the paper bag in her arm. “Have you eaten?” She asks. Not that she bought food for two, but she did get extra dumplings. “I got some food from the place at the corner.”

Gayle opens her mouth to speak, closes it, before finally replying. “I was planning to cook something, actually.”

“Ah, right. More for me,” Imra says with a chuckle and a tilt of her head. “Anyway, have a good day.”

The blonde nods. “You too, little bird.”

Imra nods, too, and ducks out of the conversation with a little flush at Gayle’s greeting.

//

One early Saturday morning, Imra is arranging her freshly delivered fruits on the crates outside the shop when a motorcycle roars to a stop just in front of the tattoo parlor. The rider dismounts the sleek black bike, takes of their helmet, and Imra almost drops the paper bag of oranges in her arms when she discovers it’s Gayle, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and looking rather dapper in the shirt and bomber jacket she is wearing, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sliver of her inkwork.

“Hey little bird,” Gayle says with a nod as she tucks her helmet on one arm, then she is making her way to her shop.

Imra blinks at where she stood, at the motorcycle, then she sighs heavily. “Hey,” she says to no one in particular, dumps the oranges into the crate, and walks into her shop to grab a bottle of cold water from the kitchen fridge.

Oh dear _god._

//

Kara comes in one day to get flowers for Lena.

“She filled up my office with flowers once,” Kara shares as Imra gathers the pale yellow lillies to add them to the bunch of roses and tulips she has already arranged. “I’m really glad you opened. The only other shop in town is ran by this guy who can’t fathom the idea of women buying flowers for their _lady_ lovers,” she adds with a laugh.

“Lady lovers are mostly my market here,” Imra shoots back with a chuckle. She wraps the flowers with the tissue and mesh sheet and ties it off with a large ribbon. Imra bites her lip, and before she could really think it through, she is already asking. “You’re friends with Gayle, right?”

Kara lights up with a smile and nods enthusiastically, then laughs. “You can say that. It’s mostly us imposing our friendship on her. She’s a little closed off.”

“Tell me about it,” Imra mumbles.

Kara smiles in understanding. “You’ll get used to her. You’re already miles ahead of us considering she offered to walk you back the other week.” Imra laughs and hands Kara the bouquet. “You want her out of her shell, though, you go to her turf.” The blonde grins and accepts the flowers. “I hope you aren’t afraid of needles.”

Imra blinks.

Well. She guesses she has always wanted a tattoo.

//

A few days later, Imra passes by the tattoo parlor with lunch in hand and sees the promotion poster still up.  She thinks about it while she eats lunch. On one hand, she has always wanted a tattoo—something simple and meaningful perhaps—but on the other hand, is she really going to get one just to get close to Gayle?

With the other option being coming up to Gayle and telling her she likes her and maybe asking her out, getting a tattoo seems like the easier choice.

“Pathetic,” she mutters as she takes a bunch of petunias, wraps them in craft paper, and heads to the tattoo shop. The sign says open so she pushes the door and walks in, but finds Gayle on the other side of the divider, hair up in a bun and busy working on a painting. Imra is about to call her attention but she notices that she isn’t wearing her hearing aids, so instead, Imra stands and waits until the blonde pauses in her work. She takes note of Gayle’s studio as she waits. The painting she had seen the first time she came over was done—it’s a field of flowers and a bright blue sky with a house by the horizon.

Gayle puts down her brush and gets up after a while. Imra takes it as a chance to knock on the nearby shelf and wave her hand to take Gayle’s attention.

The blonde looks at her in surprise. “Sorry,” she says, placing her hearing aids in her ears with a little wince. “Have you been here long? You could’ve tapped me or something.”

Imra smiles. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Gayle nods. She grabs a rag and wipes her hands with it, then rolls her sleeves up her forearm. “What’s up?”

The florist glances at her tattoos, then hands the petunias she brought. “These are for you,” she says with a little laugh. “To brighten up your place a little.”

“Okay,” Gayle replies, sounding unsure. “Um. Thanks.” She walks to her desk to set the flowers down. “Anything else?”

Imra gestures behind her. “Your discount for the first tattoo, that’s still up, right? Um. I was wondering if I could get one.”

“This is a tattoo shop,” Gayle replies. “You can get one _if_ you want one.”

“Right.” Imra purses her lips. “Question though. Does it hurt?”

Gayle laughs. “At first, I guess. I don’t remember.”

“Okay. Um. Listen,” Imra sighs. “I don’t really know what to get and—”

“Are you honestly here for a tattoo?” Gayle interrupts.

“What?” Imra furrows her eyebrows and blushes. Was she that obvious? “Yeah!”

Gayle hums, then clicks her tongue. “I suggest sleep on it. Or get drunk and come over like most of my clientele and regret it in the morning.”

“You tattoo drunk people?”

Gayle smirks and tilts her head. “You have to know what you want, little bird.”

Imra crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “Fine. Daffodils,” she blurts out. “I want… A small one. Of daffodils.”

“Daffodils,” Gayle echoes. She nods and returns to her chair, takes her brush again and glances to Imra. “Okay. Well. If you’re sure, come over tomorrow afternoon. I need to finish this commission and—” She gestures vaguely. “So you can think about it. Considering you’re just next door, just knock when you’re ready.”

Imra sighs, nods, and leaves, but not without reminding Gayle to put the petunias in a vase. Gayle makes a show of taking off her hearing aids at that, but she does take the flowers with her to what Imra hopes is the kitchen for her to put the petunias in water as advised.

//

“Huh,” Gayle says when she finds Imra walking into her shop. She is wearing another of her sleeveless tees, her inked arm on display. “I’m honestly surprised you’re pushing through with it.”

Imra just shrugs. Yes, she is pushing through getting a tattoo done, but with every minute passing by she feels like she could already regret it—or at least, regret the sheer idea of getting a tattoo for this tall, gorgeous albeit aloof blonde.

“Do you know what it will look like? And where are you getting it?” Gayle asks. Quickly assuming she meant the tattoo, the florist nods and takes the piece of paper on which she had sketched her design last night. She hands it to Gayle.

“Left forearm, maybe around here?” Imra answers, gesturing to the space of her forearm just before the crook of her elbow. Gayle looks at it her sketch and hums.

“Good then,” the tattooist says, and gestures for Imra to take a seat on the reclining chair. When Imra is seated, Gayle sits on the stool beside her and instructs Imra to rest her hand on small table to her left. “I’ll start the sketch, alright?” She says. Her voice is soft and her gaze is softer when she meets Imra’s, and the florist nods. Gayle gently places her hand on Imra’s bicep; the touch is surprising but warm, and Imra watches as she takes a pen to draw on her skin.

Her desired tattoo isn’t too elaborate; it’s of two daffodils joined at the stem, colored blue as was Preya’s favorite color. The sketch is finished soon, and Gayle excuses herself to get everything ready. She tells Imra that the bottles of water and chips to her right are free for her to consume; she also gives the florist some reminders before finally settling on her chair, gloves on and tattoo equipment in hand.

“Ready?” Gayle asks. When Imra sighs, the blonde gives her a warm smile. “Just tell me if you’re nervous or scared, okay?”

She sounds so warm and sincere, so different from the Gayle she was sure she knew, that Imra finds herself nodding. She almost jumps when she hears the equipment start to buzz, but Gayle sets a firm hand on her bicep.

“So,” Gayle starts. “What do daffodils mean?”

“What?” Imra asks, glancing to her, but then there is the tingly sting on her skin that makes her gasp. Gayle is smiling but focused on her task.

“Most people get tattoos because they hold importance to them,” Gayle explains softly. Imra bites her lip and looks at the ceiling instead, focuses on Gayle’s voice instead of the odd sensation on her arm. It doesn’t hurt as much, but it’s still unfamiliar and she sighs. “Why daffodils?”

“Well,” Imra sighs. “Daffodils mean—”

“New beginnings, I know,” Gayle interrupts. "You brought some to me on your first day next door. But what does this mean to _you?”_

Imra chuckles but she doesn’t move. She clenches her free hand. This might be the most that Gayle has spoken to her. “Creativity and inspiration,” Imra explains. “And that sounds kind of a little cliche, but also....” Imra sighs. “It’s my sister’s favorite flower. We used to grow them back home.”

“The one who introduced you to flowers?” Gayle asks softly.

Imra licks her lips. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Gayle says. “I mean. That it means something to you.”

The dark-haired woman turns slightly to Gayle. “So all your tattoos?”

Gayle chuckles softly. “Yeah.” She grows quiet then but Imra doesn’t prod, just looks away from where the artist works on her forearm. The sting has dissipated a bit, or so she thought, because Gayle takes a break and when she starts again, Imra winces.

Gayle pauses to set aside her equipment then stands. Imra panics for a moment, and when Gayle lifts her shirt just enough to reveal a patch of inked skin on her side, her panic worsens until she realizes the blonde is showing her one of her tattoos. Her entire right side, as far as Imra could see, is covered with color, sprawling from under her jeans up to her ribs, covered by her shirt—what looks like a background of watercolor splashes and clouds, and inked on them are white and yellow flowers and green leaves.

“Those are daffodils,” Imra breathes out. Gayle drops her shirt and Imra looks up to her. The blonde is smiling.

“Yeah.” She sits back down and returns to her equipment. “My mother used to read Wordsworth’s poem to me when I was younger. You ready?”

Imra blinks away the disbelief and she nods. Gayle smiles at her again, one that lets butterflies blossom in Imra’s belly, before she starts inking the rest of the florist’s tattoo.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud,” Gayle whispers as she works on Imra’s arm.  “That floats on high o’er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils.” The tattooist chuckles. “Got me into poetry and… Well, this tattoo.”

Imra smiles, even if Gayle can’t see her. “Didn’t peg you as one into poetry.”

“And what did you peg me as, exactly?”

“Depends. What did _you_ peg me as?” Imra hums. “You said you didn’t expect a florist as your neighbor.”

Gayle laughs lightly. “To be honest? A teacher maybe.” Imra sees her scrunch her nose. “You have this… soft kind of aura.”

Imra rolls her eyes playfully. “And you have this scary kind,” she mumbles, but Gayle only laughs again.

“I have a reputation to maintain, little bird,” is all she says, and Imra blushes, yet again, at the nickname.

//

The tattoo doesn’t take too long. Gayle has it done and wrapped in under an hour, and Imra examines it while the tattooist washes her hands. It’s beautiful, even more than she had expected, and she finds that she doesn’t regret the decision at all. Gayle returns to give her a pamphlet and some aftercare instructions, and Imra listens intently.

“How much do I owe you?” Imra asks, reaching for her wallet.

Gayle shrugs at her. “It’s on the house,”  she says, already back to her aloof demeanor as if she hadn’t just had conversation with Imra earlier. “Discounted and all. Thanks for the flowers, by the way.”

Imra thanks her, too, but she leaves, confused despite the warm feeling in her belly.

//

Gayle visits the flower shop several days later. Imra asks her what she needs, but the blonde only shrugs. “I wanted to check on your tattoo,” she says.

Imra grins and shows off her first ink. “It’s healing nicely. Really itchy though.”

“Don’t scratch,” Gayle reminds.

“I know,” Imra laughs. “Would you, um, would you like anything to drink?”

Gayle shakes her head. “I just wanted to check in on you. Considering it was your first tattoo and all.”

“Right,” Imra nods. “Well. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Gayle hesitates. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and then leaves without another word.

Imra looks to where she had gone, confused.

//

Saturday morning has Imra taking inventory of her freshly delivered flowers. The familiar roar of a motorcycle tapers off to a stop behind her, and she glances to her left to find Gayle taking off her helmet and fixing her hair.

“Good morning,” Imra says, curious as to where the blonde had gone if she was just coming home at this time of the morning.

“Morning, little bird,” Gayle says with a little smirk, then she is walking to her apartment.

Imra watches her, curiosity replaced with a dreamy sigh.

//

A delivery of flowers come in one time as Imra is arranging her displayed succulents.

“Is this a joke?” She asks the delivery guy as she accepts the huge bouquet of gardenias and purple heathers. The man shrugs and asks Imra to sign the receipt.

“Just paid to deliver them, ma’am,” he says. “Thanks. Have a good day,” he says, then he is walking off to his bike and leaving.

Imra stares dumbly at the bouquet in her arms but she blushes nonetheless, caught in surprise.

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” a voice drawls. Imra sighs and playfully glares at Gayle.

“These are probably from that other flower shop,” the florist says, examining the arrangement with a scrunch of her nose. No card or anything. “Like a warning or something.”

“Gardenias,” Gayle deadpans.

“Uh-huh,” Imra replies distractedly. The ribbon isn’t tied as neatly as she’d like, but otherwise, it’s a lovely bouquet.

“Don’t they mean admiration or something?” Gayle asks, and when Imra looks up, the blonde’s eyebrows are furrowed.

Imra tilts her head. “How did you—”

Gayle makes a sound and brings her phone to her ear. “Yeah, I told you I’ll get it done this week,” she yells into the phone as she makes her way to her shop. Imra watches her, confused.

When did she get here again?

“I swear that woman is a witch or something,” Imra mutters, but she heads inside to put the flowers in water.

//

It’s the middle of the afternoon and Imra, after a busy night of reading a rather exciting book, is at the verge of passing out in the shop. She takes a break and buys a tall cup of coffee from Sweet Ecstasy along with some croissants. It’s Kara who is at the register.

“Do you know what Gayle drinks?” Imra asks.

Kara smiles and nods. “Should I add an order of tall black coffee then?”

//

Gayle is with a customer when Imra comes in. She apologizes but Gayle just smiles, and so does the broad-shouldered man she is tattooing.

“I got you coffee and bread,” Imra says, setting the items on the desk across the room.

“What is it for?” Gayle asks, confused.

“What?”

“The coffee,” the blonde clarifies.

Imra shrugs. “Just. Thought you could… Use some.” She blushes and bites her lip. “It’s a sleepy afternoon.”

“Right. Um.” Gayle nods slowly. “Thank you.”

Imra smiles. “No problem,” she says, then leaves with a wave at Gayle and the man.

//

Gayle comes in one day, bringing a bouquet of daffodils. “Your flowers have multiple meanings and they suck,” is the first thing she says, and Imra greets her with a confused smile.

“These aren’t my flowers,” Imra says with a little laugh as she eyes the arrangement. "And, well, usually the giver is supposed to, you know. Elaborate. Personally or with a card or a letter…” She shakes her head when she notices that Gayle is quite tense, and Imra walks around the counter to stand closer to her. “Are you okay?”   

Gayle sighs, looks at the flowers she is bringing, then meets Imra’s gaze. “They’re yours,” she mumbles. She sighs again. “I mean. I’m giving them to you.”

“Oh.” Imra blinks.

“...Yeah.”

“Like…” Imra points to herself. “ _Giving_ them to me.”  

Gayle sighs again. “Look, Imra,” she says, and Imra thinks she has never heard her name come out of Gayle’s lips, _ever,_ and she isn’t quite prepared for how _warm_ the simple sound made her feel. Imra bites her lip and lets the blonde speak. “I think you’re a nice person and I- honestly don’t know how to talk to you except in a language you seem to be comfortable with and—” She huffs. “And the gardenias didn’t clearly work—”

“The gardenias were from you?” Imra interrupts.

The blonde doesn’t answer, instead, she sighs again, the sound heavy. “I don’t- This was a dumb idea, I’ll just—”

“Hey,” Imra whispers, and she smiles in a way she hopes  is comforting as she reaches out for Gayle’s hand, even if her heart is currently threatening to rip out of her chest. “Do you know what these mean?” She asks, gesturing to the daffodils.

Gayle puffs her cheeks with air and shrugs as she looks down at the yellow flowers. “That I’ll have to bring back the bouquet to the other flower shop?”

Imra laughs. “I’m a little hurt that you had to go to my competitor for flowers, but no.” She bites her lip. “I mean. In this context. Us.”

Gayle rolls her eyes. “You really want me to say it.”

Imra bites back a smile. She doesn’t take her hand off of Gayle’s wrist, and she thinks she could feel the blonde’s own heartbeat race. “Of course.”

Gayle rolls her eyes again. “Fine.” She sighs. “I like you.”

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” She finally pulls away, only to pick a daffodil from the bouquet. She gently places it in Gayle’s hand. Gayle stares down at it, practically _glares._

“What are you—”

“Daffodils also kind of stand for unrequited love, you know,” Imra says softly. Gayle’s expression falls at it, but Imra puts her hand on hers. “But sometimes they mean affection returned,” Imra smiles. “I like you too.”

Gayle huffs and glares. “Did you really have to start with that?”

Imra giggles. “Were you scared?”

“I’m bringing these flowers back,” the blonde mutters.

Imra bites her lip, glances at the bouquet in Gayle’s arm. “Or,” she starts with a little smile. “You could kiss me instead.”

Gayle rolls her eyes. “I’ve waited a long time for that,” she mutters, and the idea of it makes Imra blush. “I can wait a little longer.”

Imra doesn’t.

//

("Finally!" Alex exclaims when Imra and Gayle walk into Sweet Ecstasy one day, and she calls out for Sam and Kara, who appear from the back kitchen with huge grins. 

"I'm telling Lena," Kara says, then looks at the couple. "I can tell, Lena, right?" 

"Can we just get cake?" Gayle mutters, but Imra kisses her cheek and her annoyance melts away.)

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. I haven’t gotten a tattoo so I don’t know how it works lol. I also don’t hearing impairment and don’t wear hearing aids, nor do I know anyone who does, so I apologize if I made a mistake in writing those details here. Please let me know so I can educate myself and correct my work. Thank you!


End file.
